If Sentiment Could Kill
by RassyRenee
Summary: Doctor John Watson waited three years for the return of his flatmate, consulting detective Sherlock Holmes. After Holmes faked his own death, Watson dedicated his life to proving the famed detective was alive and prospering. In a last attempt to out Sherlock Holmes of hiding, John dangerously drifts into the shadows hoping for one more glimpse of the man who left him to fall.
1. Chapter 1

The bloody knife clattered to the floor echoing loudly through the barren hallway. "I couldn't bear the idea of you being dead. For three years I thought everyday would be my last." The man wipe crimson blood splatter off of his face, only smearing itmore."So  
many times I stared down the barrel of my own gun, the pointed end of my knife, the noose end of my rope, or the street below from the top of Saint Bart's hospital. But then I realized how stupid it would be to take my own life. Sostupid because  
Iknew you were alive. Out there. Somewhere. You still never came." Another pause while the man kneeled down next to his latest victim. "So I decided to look for another way to lure you back here. What better way than this?" John

/Watson smirked, covered inblood, and gestured toward the familiar body staring back at them. "Welcome back, Sherlock Holmes."

The shock registered on Sherlock's face when he realized what had happened. This was one deduction he could have never seen. He knew the reality of the situation when the first victim file passed from Mycroft's hands to his. The bloodied corpse of Molly  
/Hooperblankly stared back at him at the top of the file.

Then the second file came directly in the mail. This time the blank, wide-eyed man named Greg Lestrade stared back at him. First Molly, now Lestrade. Who would be next? John? Sherlock vowed to let this murderer, this fiend, get to John.

The game is on. It must be on.

John moved suddenly flashing Sherlock back to the present. The still body of Mrs. Hudson make him stop in his tracks."John?" Sherlock's whisper cracked. His mind, capable of computing thousands of algorithms and theories

In under one minute, was unable to comprehend such a unique turn of events. It was unseeable.

"I knew you'd come back if you saw your friends being murdered all around you." John kneeled beside his victim, "It's a shame she had to die, Sherlock. I was really hoping I'd find you before I had to kill her."

"How did it get this bad, John?"

"You did this to me, Holmes! You made me this way!"


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock, desperate to control the situation, took an instinctive step toward John Watson, whose emotions were beginning to spiral out of control. John's eyes flashed in anger and Sherlock threw his hands up in retreat. "I left, John, but I am here now.

"Only after your friends had to die!" Sherlock took the moment of distraction and lunged for the bloody knife still on the floor when John dropped it moments before. "I knew you'd be the cleverest one to find me."

"Oh, yeah? How is that?" Sherlock asked, stalling for time.

"I lived with you for over a year. Eighteen months I had to learn every beat of your heart, every quiver of your soul. I'm the expert on Sherlock Holmes. I knew what would make you leave your hiding. I knew Mycroft would send you the files of your friends,  
I knew you'd feel pity. You would show your face again in London. I just had to figure out how desperate I needed to go. Molly and Greg got your attention, but seeing John dead would break you, Sherlock. You'd hunt down the killer responsible in a  
frenzy and we'd be reunited once again." Sherlock looked at John, the man he once knew as his flatmate was gone. The John that stood before him was wrong and evil and twisted. "You couldn't live with seeing your friends dead."

Sherlock squinted his eyes slightly, there was something John had missed. Sherlock hadn't returned to London because three of his friends were dead, he had returned because he was afraid of the last one dying.

"Everyone else knew where you had disappeared to. But me, your bloody best friend, sat in the dark for three damn years! I knew you weren't dead, Sherlock. Molly tried to tell me when she saw me going downthis 'dangerous, unforgiving' path  
she liked to call it." John took a step toward Sherlock and Sherlock's long, white fingers gripped the blade even tighter.

"She could've helped, John."

"I didn't need help, I needed you! I wrote, I called, I did everything to get your attention. I'm sure you wrote Molly all kinds of letters, and phoned Lestrade every bloody chance you got! But nothing for me. What are you going to do with that knife,  
Sherlock? Are you going to kill me with it?"


End file.
